


Sometimes Transcendental

by robocryptid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Awkwardness, Bad Dirty Talk, Humor, M/M, Polyamory, Romance Writer Baptiste, Sex Is Fun, Sexual Content, Threesome - M/M/M, Tropes, general roasting of romance and smut writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25840870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: Lúcio and Genji discover a collection of cheesy romance novels. They aren't good, exactly, but theyareaddictive, and so is the mystery surrounding the obviously pseudonymous writer.
Relationships: Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Genji Shimada, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos, Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada, Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada
Comments: 23
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The seed of this idea came from some offhand goofing with motorghost in [this Twitter thread](https://twitter.com/DesLaMoto/status/1245046440906444800?s=20). The title is adapted from a line from "The Book of Love" by The Magnetic Fields: 
> 
> _The book of love has music in it  
>  In fact that's where music comes from  
> Some of it is just transcendental  
> Some of it is just really dumb_
> 
> The rest of this fic came from my own goblin brain, and no one should be blamed for it but me.

_Marcel’s glistening hazel orbs sparkled with mirth. “Oh, like_ you _know anything,” he teased playfully, eyeing the lighter-haired man who had just finished filing his fingernails._

_The blond peered at his companion with his vivid emerald ocular organs and blew the dust from his nails. “I know plenty of things,” he responded. “I know what you like.”_

“Wait, is this going where I think it is?” Genji asks as he pushes up onto his elbows. Previously he was sprawled on his back on the lumpy couch, face pointed toward the ceiling. Now he’s finally alert. “Are you reading me _pornography?”_ His scandalized gasp is really laying it on thick.

Lúcio snorts and glances up from the worn out book. “You got any better ways to pass the time?” 

They’ve been here for five hours now, trapped in a small, dusty apartment on the edge of town. Talon’s still sweeping the city looking for any hint of Overwatch, which means they’re stuck for the foreseeable future. It could definitely be worse, but turning on the holo set is too great a risk. Reading is the safer option. The only books in the house are by one Jean C. Fleury, who is a prolific writer of erotic literature. Most of their spines are cracked and pages are dog-eared, which suggests they have _some_ redeeming qualities, but Lúcio is skeptical so far.

He likes to think he’s learned to read Genji’s body language pretty well, but right now, the smooth blank faceplate is unnerving. After what feels like way too long, Genji reclines again, looking back toward the ceiling, and he waves a hand vaguely. “Okay. Read on.” 

Lúcio clears his throat for an obnoxiously long time.

 _Marcel could not believe his good fortune. Was Stefan actually_ flirting _with him? “And what do I like?” he asked inquisitively._

_“Me, for one,” the blond replied seductively. He quickly closed the gap between them, trapping the taller man with his lascivious gaze. “Or are you going to argue with that too?” he queried in a husky voice._

_“N-no argument here,” the dark-haired man stuttered._

_“Good,” Stefan purred, chartreuse eyes narrowed like a cat’s. Then he canted his head upward and sealed their mouths passionately together. It was the best kiss of Marcel’s thirty-five year life, and it only grew better as Stefan licked at the seam of his lips, tongue begging for an invitation inside. Once the businessman allowed it, the blond teased his tongue into Marcel’s mouth. Not to be outdone, the taller man deepened the kiss in return, until their tongues were battling for dominance like territorial eels._

Genji lets out a cackle. “Like _what?”_

“Like territorial eels,” Lúcio says with the straightest face he can muster. 

“You’re joking. Let me see that.” Lúcio hands him the book, and Genji skims the page until he finds the passage in question. “What the hell?” He flips the book over to examine it, then turns to the insides of the jacket. Lúcio doesn’t fail to note that Genji marks his page with a finger, though. “Name seems… French? Maybe it got lost in translation? ‘Jean C. Fleury lives in the sunny Caribbean with several cats, a pot-bellied pig named Wilbur, and his loving husband. He is the esteemed author of _The Scrumptious Revolution_ and _Tumbleweeds and Titillation._ His hobbies include rock climbing, sexy dance fighting, and inventing elaborate new curse words.’ This is… this has to be a prank, right?”

“There are like fifteen books here. Who writes fifteen books as a prank?”

Genji’s off the couch and crouching next to Lúcio in an instant, shoving the book at him in favor of analyzing the others’ spines. “Here’s your _Tumbleweeds and Titillation.”_ He snorts, pulls the book from the shelf, then reads the back cover. “It’s about cowboys. You know who needs to see this.” Then Genji lets out a soft gasp. “Another one!” He holds up _Dust Devils and Desire._ “I think it’s a sequel.” He stacks the two together and holds them close to his chest. 

“Check this one out. Lesbian scientists. The guy’s got versatility.” 

Genji grabs that one too, skimming the back cover before he adds it to his pile. “Angela is going to hate it so much.” He doesn’t sound all that concerned about his friend’s distress; in fact, he sounds delighted.

There are several books about mercenaries in love, one about two very competitive chefs, another about a barista who falls in love with a writer, and even a supernatural novel about a werewolf. It doesn’t take much debate to decide they should take the whole collection when they leave. 

There’s enough room in Lúcio’s backpack to fit plenty of the books. When they’re evacuated, Genji simply carries the ones that didn’t fit, no shame to be found even under the weight of their teammates’ curious stares. 

* * *

They choose, very generously in Lúcio’s opinion, to donate the entire collection to the burgeoning library in what was once some officers’ lounge at the Watchpoint. It nearly doubles the number of books Overwatch has amassed here so far. Mei catches them arranging the shelves, and her eyes go wide.

“Oh hey, you like romance novels, right?” Lúcio asks.

“I… yes? I really, um.” She stops there. 

Lúcio waits for her to continue, but when it’s obvious she’s only going to stare, he shrugs. “Found them on our last mission. This guy’s written _a lot.”_

“Mmhmm,” Mei says. She’s staring at the book in Lúcio’s hand like it’s going to bite her. 

He turns to retrieve the one they were going to give to Angela. “Look, this one’s about scientists, you might—” When he looks back, there’s an empty space where Mei was once standing. “Thought you were the ninja,” he mutters to Genji.

* * *

_Marcel’s eyes went wide as saucers. Stefan’s turgid length was intimidatingly large. The brunet didn’t know how it was going to fit._

_“Relax,” the blond whispered quietly. “Let me take care of you.”_

_The shorter man carefully pushed one finger in, then another, then another, while the businessman shook and moaned. It felt strange at first, but as Marcel began to relax, it felt better and better, until the smaller man’s fingers suddenly brushed over That Spot._

_“Oh,” breathed Marcel breathily. “Do that again.”_

Genji snickers, then he snatches the book from Lúcio’s grasp. “Okay, I _told you_ it had to be a joke. Nobody writes like that.” 

“I don’t know, man. I’ve been doing some research—”

“Research.” Genji’s mask is on, but Lúcio can still picture a thick black eyebrow raising.

“Yeah, research. This is, like, pretty standard for the genre.”

Genji does pull off the faceplate now, but it’s so he can grab a handful of the popcorn Lúcio made earlier. Still, it means Genji’s smile is visible, which is always nice. “Please,” he says after he swallows his popcorn. “Tell me more about your research.”

Lúcio feels his face go hot. He knows he’s being teased. It’s not the first time; Genji is convinced Lúcio secretly likes the books in some way other than the sort of fun, guilty pleasure feeling they give him. Genji’s _right,_ but not in the way he’s been implying. He likes them because they’re an excuse to get one particularly cute cyborg alone in his room with him. 

They’ve always gotten along well enough, made each other laugh, sought each other out when the team’s together, but they never had so much frequent alone time until they discovered the novels. Before this, Lúcio thought he probably didn’t have much of a chance. It’s not low self-esteem. More like a realistic assessment of what’s possible. He knows he’s a lot younger and that there are plenty of people closer to Genji’s age around. Baptiste in particular seems to catch and keep Genji’s attention regularly, which is fair. _Incredibly_ fair. Baptiste is… well, Lúcio sort of figures he’s unattainable the same way Genji is, and those two flirt, and so he wrote it off.

Except now Genji hangs out in his room, talking around the content of the novels and smiling more than Lúcio’s ever seen him smile, or heard it in his voice. It’s hard not to read into it at least a little bit, is the thing. So yes, Lúcio will keep reading these silly books and doing research into the genre and whatever else keeps Genji coming back, until he’s either sure enough to act on it or sure enough he’s getting over the crush.

“Okay, well, here’s a fun one: nobody even knows who this guy _is._ It’s obviously a pen name, but there are all these rumors that he’s some other author, and nobody can figure out who it is.”

“Does that mean the pot-bellied pig is a lie too?” Genji pouts, then he breaks into another laugh that makes Lúcio feel warm all the way to his toes.

* * *

At first, Lúcio’s convinced that he and Genji are the only ones bothering with the novels. The books never seem to move from their shelf unless they’re the ones doing the moving. He’s just finished _The Scrumptious Revolution_ — the one with the chefs, which turned out to be marginally better written than the last — when he discovers he’s wrong.

McCree is reclined in the lounge, ankles crossed where they’re sticking out over one arm of the couch, reading _Dust Devils and Desire_ with a smirk on his face. He glances up at Lúcio, one eyebrow twitching. “Heard you were responsible for diversifyin’ our reading selection.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s me. Me and Genji.” Something’s off about the bookshelf, and he can’t decide out what it is. “Didn’t think this would be your thing.”

“I am a man of many tastes,” McCree says breezily. 

“Didn’t stray too far, though, I see.” When McCree furrows his brow, Lúcio gestures at the book. “That’s the one about the cowboys, right?”

“Oh. Hah, yeah. I happen to be real fond of this one. Think I got someone to recommend it to.”

Lúcio snorts, and he’s not sure he wants to know what it means. He looks back to the shelf. “You know anyone else reading these?”

“Not anyone specific. Why?”

“I think one’s missing.”

McCree hums. “Can’t say I know anything about that.” 

* * *

Lúcio’s comm dings at him, and he makes the mistake of checking the message while he’s still on the treadmill.

_Rodrigo shot off so hard it spewed dick confetti everywhere!!_

He almost trips. He rights himself, trying to decide whether he should laugh or be angry he almost hurt himself over something so stupid. He settles on glaring across the gym at Genji, who’s carefully staring down at the free weight in his hand. His refusal to look at Lúcio definitely feels like an active choice.

He finishes his jog before he responds: _Did you write that yourself?_ He pointedly doesn’t look Genji’s way, but somehow he still knows Genji’s smirking as Lúcio leaves the gym. 

[Genji]: _Yeah. Feeling inspired!!_

[Lúcio]: _Thanks, I hate it._

[Genji]: _Jealous you didn’t think of it, I bet._

For the second time in twenty minutes, it’s Genji’s fault Lúcio almost hurts himself. This time it’s because he’s so busy grinning at his comm that he almost runs headfirst into Baptiste. Specifically, into Baptiste’s chest, because Lúcio is just the right height to end up eye to eye with annoyingly perfect pecs. 

Warm, dry hands land on each of his arms, and the chest in front of him shakes with a quiet laugh. Lúcio has to crane his neck to look up at his face, and it is really uncool that Baptiste also _smells_ good. He’s going to the gym, not coming from it. Lúcio is suddenly conscious of every drop of sweat — dried and otherwise — stuck to his skin. 

“Uh,” he says eloquently.

“You okay?” Baptiste asks. Lúcio’s comm chimes again, probably something he shouldn’t check in front of anyone, especially not the mind-numbingly hot man staring down at him.

“Yep, great, sorry, I’m— Shower. I need a shower.” Baptiste looks like he’s not convinced. He might be concerned for Lúcio’s sanity. So Lúcio clears his throat and tells himself to stop being an idiot. “Sorry, man, next time I decide to walk into you, I’ll make sure I smell better.”

Baptiste smiles, and Lúcio’s pretty sure there are beams of sunshine reflecting off his teeth. “Sounds good. Take it easy, yeah?” 

Baptiste has mercy and lets him go, leaving Lúcio to slowly recover brain cells with every step he takes. He takes a stabilizing breath, then he glances back in time to see Baptiste put a hand on Genji’s shoulder, to see Genji meet his bright smile with a smaller one of his own. 

Right. That’s a thing. 

At least it gets him to head to the shower a little faster.

* * *

It’s not that the books are _good,_ necessarily, but they have a quality to them that makes them impossible not to finish. He and Genji tear through every Fleury book they brought back with a speed that should probably be embarrassing. There is still the matter of the one missing, but it has to turn up eventually. 

With every book, he becomes more convinced that Genji’s theory is right: this guy writes like he doesn’t care how silly it sounds. Like he’s _reveling_ in it, even. He’s played it straight a few times and even wrung some real feelings out of Lúcio — like when Yusuf’s rival-turned-best-friend took the mission to Mars and left him hopelessly pining — but for the most part, all he really seems to care about is having a good time. 

By the time he has read all they have at the Watchpoint, Lúcio has evolved from ironically amused to outright obsessed. It is no longer a private hobby. He and Genji discuss it openly, whenever and wherever they please, and they now spend their downtime perusing fan forums about the guy.

Today they’re combing through their favorite fan theories in the middle of the dining hall. Some fans speculate that Fleury is a woman, which causes Genji to wrinkle his nose. “Why would women want to write... that?”

“Is that a real question? Like have you _seen_ a naked man?”

Genji stares at him for a moment, then he shakes his head. “Uh, right.”

Lúcio reads more aloud, part of a fan argument over one of the lesbian novels. “‘It’s not that I think men _can’t_ write women well, it’s just that there’s such authenticity there.’ Huh.” At least this argument is sounder than the one insisting only a woman would write men talking about or even having deep romantic feelings.

Genji snickers. “Apparently whatever gender Fleury is, it is ‘inherently fetishistic’” — this is accompanied by a wiggle of his fingers — “to write erotica about any but their own.”

“What does that even mean?” At Genji’s look, Lúcio elaborates. "Like I know what the word means, but what does _that_ mean?”

“That they need to learn better English?” Genji suggests with a shrug.

Lúcio snorts. Whatever else the gender arguments say, they do reveal that the biographies in Fleury’s books are utterly bizarre and often contradictory. There is an entire wiki devoted to listing and dissecting every _About the Author_ written for the guy. If they take his pronouns at face value and discount the conspiracies that he’s a middle-aged woman so obsessed with seeing two men together that it’s pathological, Jean C. Fleury is either a senior citizen retired in the Caribbean, or he is a younger man, possibly working some kind of boring desk job and paying down his debts with his side gig. 

They find the bio that mentions the pot-bellied pig, then another that says he is an enthusiastic collector of tropical fish, and others that say he owns a hedgehog, an armadillo, several cattle dogs, and so many cats that he has an entire floor of his house devoted to them alone. Either the guy has a full menagerie, or the biographies are totally fabricated. His hobbies are somehow more eclectic; they mention everything from taxidermy to glass blowing to competitive rhythmic gymnastics.

“The thing with the ribbon?” Genji asks.

“The thing with the ribbon.”

Further research reveals his professional site, which features testimonials by several other authors, including several from one in particular. “Any idea why Joel Morricone sounds familiar?” Lúcio asks, but Genji fails to enlighten him. “Dude calls Fleury a literal genius. I love the guy, but I don’t know about _genius.”_

Genji suddenly flips his tablet around and shoves it across the table. “I think I found the next one we must read.” 

_Musical prodigy Jaren is on the verge of his big break when he meets a mysterious man with a dark history. Will the new boyfriend’s past upset his bright future, or will they find their way to perfect harmony?_

Lúcio blinks in the face of Genji’s grin. He wonders a lot of things in that moment. Surely Genji isn’t just messing with him, but there’s no way he can’t see the obvious. “You wanna… read the one about a musician and a guy with a dark past?” 

“It’s perfect, right?”

Lúcio’s whole face is hot. His neck too. Either Genji is as clueless as he seems right now, or this is some kind of flashing neon sign, and Lúcio can’t think of a single way to ask which it is. 

“That one’s no good, honestly,” McCree says. Lúcio doesn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed for the interruption. McCree looks like he wouldn’t care either way.

“I didn’t realize you knew his work so well.” Lúcio suddenly has visions of McCree having done the same thing he and Genji are doing: tearing through every novel of Fleury’s he can find, with no real certainty why he’s doing it. He’s not sure he appreciates the comparison, in that light.

“I’m a big reader.” McCree shrugs, then he leans over Genji to scroll past the book in question, humming as he does so. He lands on one about two competitive martial artists falling in love in the ring. “That one’s one of the best.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, man, but I’m not sure I trust your tastes,” Lúcio teases.

Genji snorts, and even McCree chuckles at that. “Not sure there’s a right way to take that one.”

“There isn’t,” Genji assures him with a pat on the shoulder. “But it’s true. Your taste is terrible.”

“Alright, alright.” McCree swats Genji’s hand away good-naturedly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn y’all.” He excuses himself with an amused sound, and he wanders off to sit with Mei and Baptiste.

It is not a combination of people Lúcio would have really expected to hang out together, but he realizes this isn’t the first time. He turns back to Genji, hunched closer so they won’t be overheard. Genji leans in automatically, and Lúcio’s heart gives a very silly flutter. “Did you know they were friends?” he asks, with a careful, subtle tip of his head to indicate the table behind him.

“No.” Genji sounds concerned enough that Lúcio regrets bringing it up. He was doing fine without the reminder of Genji’s painfully obvious crush today.

“I don’t trust him,” Lúcio says, tapping the edge of Genji’s tablet to get his attention back to something less complicated. “But it’s not like they’re millions of dollars. I’m just gonna order both.”

* * *

His package never arrives.

He has the confirmation email with his proof of purchase, the tracking number, and another confirmation email declaring his books have been delivered to the discreet post office box and false name they all use for incoming mail. There’s a storage closet that functions as an official mail room, but there are no packages that look like they could hold two short novels. The only one that comes close is a large, squishy envelope that feels like it has clothes in it.

After he has gone through every package in the closet twice, Lúcio checks the list on the door. It was Mei who did today’s mail run.

He doesn’t see her for most of the day, but he finally catches her coming in from the vegetable garden they planted outside. “Hey, did you see a box that might have had some books in it?” Mei’s eyes are so wide it sort of stresses him out, but he _is_ sort of cornering her out of the blue. “Sorry, I’m trying to figure out what happened to my mail.”

“Oh,” she says, drawing out the syllable. “Are you sure it was delivered?”

“Got an email that says it was.”

“Ohhh,” she says again. “Um, have you checked with the post office? It could have gone to the wrong box?” The last word ends on a squeak. “I have to... go? Somewhere? I really hope you solve your problem!”

She brushes past him and scurries down the hall. Lúcio watches her leave in utter shock.

* * *

“Dude, she _lied_ to me.”

“That cannot possibly be true,” Genji says with a laugh. “What does Mei want with your mail?”

“I don’t know!” Lúcio scrubs his palms against his pants, frustrated. “It sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Like it doesn’t make any sense. It’s _Mei.”_

“I wouldn’t say ‘stupid’. Maybe there is a detail that is missing that will explain it all.” Genji snaps his fingers, grinning the way he does when he’s about to get up to something. “Maybe Fleury _is_ a woman. Maybe Mei is bashful about her colleagues reading her work.”

“Oh yeah, between all her research papers, she writes weird, horny romance novels. Definitely sounds like her.”

“People can be very surprising. You _read_ weird, horny romance novels.”

It’s a fair observation, but it doesn’t stop him from turning the whole interaction over and over in his mind.

* * *

In an effort to believe Mei, he calls the post office, then he calls the bookseller. The post office can’t tell him much without more information, but the bookseller confirms once more that they did indeed ship his books and that they were marked as delivered by the shipping service. For all the accountability anyone is showing, they may as well have disappeared into thin air.

The easiest solution is to order them as ebooks instead. It’s a lot harder for a digital download to disappear the same way as a physical book. The one about the martial artists finishes first, so that’s the one he reads. He sends a link to the other to Genji so he can get started on it.

It turns out McCree wasn’t wrong about this one. Aremo is an arrogant but charismatic character, and his less likable love interest makes up for it by being challenging in a way that keeps the plot moving. Besides, the constant butting of heads is weirdly hot in its own way, even if Lúcio has always shied away from that sort of drama in his own relationships. It’s good. It might be his new favorite.

The benefit to having the digital version is that he can take it with him on the next mission. The flights are always the worst part, these interminable stretches of time that leave him unable to really sleep or really focus on anything else. The story keeps him occupied, though, even if it would be easier to focus on it if Baptiste weren’t in the seat next to him, smelling annoyingly good again and humming along to the music coming through his earbuds.

Lúcio would like to find him obnoxious, or rude, or anything that it’s possible to dislike, but the only _actual_ problems he has with Baptiste are that he finds the guy ridiculously attractive and, worse, that Genji seems to agree. He realizes he’s staring because Baptiste catches him at it and gives him a close-lipped smile. He even tugs one earbud free, gesturing at Lúcio’s tablet. “What are you reading?”

It’s not that Lúcio’s ashamed, but saying it aloud to somebody who’s not already in on the information does feel very strange. He chooses to hedge. “Just a silly book.”

“I like silly books.” It is so unfair that Baptiste’s smile is as nice as it is, because it makes Lúcio want to tell him all about it, and maybe ask him what he thinks.

“I don’t know, this one’s a... really specific kind of silly.”

“Ah,” Baptiste says with a patient nod. “Do you mind?” He holds a hand out for the tablet, and Lúcio doesn’t know _what_ compels him to hand it over. Baptiste skims the page he’s on, mouth curved slightly, while Lúcio tries not to watch his hands too closely where they cradle the tablet. “That _is_ one of the better ones,” he says like he’s surprised.

“You’ve read some of his others?”

“A few,” Baptiste says with the strangest smile. “Who doesn’t like something light and trashy once in a while?”

Lúcio laughs. “A lot of people, actually. I really didn’t think you would be the type.”

“And what _is_ the type?” Baptiste grins. Lúcio struggles to answer, and he’d like to think it’s because it’s a challenging question, but really it might be because Baptiste’s smile is shockingly bright, and he’s leaning in like they have a conspiracy, and he seems genuinely interested in whatever Lúcio might have to say. 

It’s really, really hard not to like him. It’s honestly more work than it’s worth. It’s not Baptiste’s fault Genji likes him. It’s not really Genji’s fault either. Who _wouldn’t_ like Baptiste, except maybe all those Talon people he screwed over when he defected? By Lúcio’s estimation, that’s only another point in his favor. 

Baptiste inches closer, waiting for his answer, and Lúcio’s heart pounds, his face growing hot. “Maybe… people who just aren’t any fun?” Lúcio finally remembers there was a question he’s expected to answer. “So I guess, people who aren’t anything like you. You’re fun, right? I’ve seen you making piña coladas. That spells either buckets of fun or an elderly person who wears socks with sandals.” Baptiste lets out a surprised laugh. It’s also big and open and makes some part of Lúcio want to laugh right along with him. Then the music from Baptiste’s earbuds swells, a familiar bass beat met by a chord progression Lúcio’s particularly proud of. “Is that…” He gestures at the earbuds.

“Of course. I’m a big fan.” Baptiste’s smile is wide and gorgeous, and Lúcio’s heart thuds in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

The mission goes as smoothly as these things can. They recover a group of civilians being held captive by some Null Sector wannabes. Lúcio works with Baptiste and Angela to treat the hostages’ wounds. Most are shallow, easy fixes, especially with all the supplies Overwatch has on hand, but there are a lot of people to work with, which is its own struggle.

“Always hated this part,” Baptiste says quietly as he shoves a bottle of water at Lúcio. “Was it like this in Rio? During your revolt?”

Lúcio shakes his head. “No. We were stuck with early prototypes of my tech.”

“Your tech is good.”

“Thanks, but there are limits. I can’t fix a broken bone with a song, you know? And we didn’t have a ton of biotics or whatever.”

“You had to ration them, right?” Baptiste sighs and doesn’t wait for his answer. He seems to know he’s right anyway. “Had to make quick calls. Who needs it most today, and who can afford to wait in pain or risk infection while  _ you  _ wait for more supplies to come in. Who you can send off with a bottle of headache medicine and tell them to make do. Never sure if you made the right call, if somebody’s suffering because you gave up resources to somebody else.”

“Yeah,” Lúcio says. It feels good to hear someone else say it aloud, to voice those worries for him now that they’re safely back in the past, at least for today. “We didn’t have an Angela either.”

“She is wonderful, but she is also only one person. So are you. Look at all you did  _ without  _ the resources she had.”

“I know. There’s always the voice, though. You know…” Lúcio chews his lip, then he takes a drink of the water instead of continuing the thought.

“The voice that says, ‘I could have done more’,” Baptiste finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. That one catches up to me all the time.” Baptiste laughs a tired laugh, shaking his head. “And the sheer number of people hurting. It takes its toll.” Lúcio nods, and Baptiste gives him a soft smile. “I have an old friend, Roseline, who is a doctor now. She told me once how to count my blessings. If people need our help, it means they are still alive. That is better than the alternative.”

Lúcio snorts. “If they’re suffering, they’re alive. That’s dark, man.” 

Baptiste doesn’t roll his eyes, but he looks like he’s thinking about it. “I am not the one who phrased it that way.” He’s smiling as he says it, and Lúcio feels himself go warm from head to toe. That’s as good a sign as any that he should probably get back to work.

* * *

By the time the mission is finished, all he wants is to bury himself in a book. He rereads the entirety of  _ A Fighting Spirit  _ on the flight back. It’s comforting, no matter how goofy some parts get, because there’s this sense of optimism and  _ fun  _ built into every Fleury book that keeps him coming back. It’s comforting, and it’s exactly what he needs in the moment.

When he gets back to base, though, he wants three things: a shower, Genji, and the next book. He doesn’t get either of the other two, but he does get to see Genji on the way back from debriefing. He feels himself brighten, suddenly energized, and he coaxes Genji into walking with him back toward his room. One of the first things he asks is, “How’s  _ Perfect Harmony?” _

Genji won’t quite look at him. “It was good.” Something about his expression is suspicious. 

“Are you sure about that?”

“I think you should just… read it for yourself.” Genji’s cheeks are red. He doesn’t even stay for their usual joking around. 

Lúcio refuses to let it hurt his feelings, but he’s less successful at ignoring how  _ curious  _ it makes him. He washes up quickly, eager to get into the new story, and equally eager to figure out what made Genji act so strangely.

The story opens with Jaren, fresh from a show, stepping out to get a bite to eat. It’s nothing too thrilling, although it has some of the author’s usual silly flourishes. Lúcio smiles a few times at how relatable he finds the character. Then he meets the love interest. 

_ He was a full head taller than Jaren, although this was not hard to accomplish. His thick black hair was matched by thick black eyebrows and a ring of dense, dark lashes around brown orbs.  _

_ “Takashi,” he said, introducing himself with a hand held out. His mouth was perfectly shaped for the smirk it held, as well as for kissing or… other things.  _

Dangerous,  _ whispered a quiet voice in the back of the musician’s mind. Takashi moved like his body was a weapon. Even here and now, when surely the taller man’s next question would only be to inquire after an autograph.  _

Lúcio pauses. He scrolls back a few pages to find the description of Jaren. Short and dark-skinned, slim build, with brown eyes and dreads. Before now, this was something Lúcio had appreciated about this work and so many of Fleury’s: most of his protagonists were the sort of men traditional romance novels left out or reduced to stereotypes. Marcel and Stefan, from the first book they discovered, turned out to be the exception, not the rule. Lúcio can forgive a lot of hilariously florid prose for the sake of black men and other men of color being treated as desirable, soft, distinct from one another and capable of loving and being loved. It is one of the few _un_ ironic joys of Fleury’s books. 

Now, though, he feels the back of his neck prickle with a strange cold sweat. He skims, barely aware of the plot, now only focused on the descriptions. Jaren’s height is frequently highlighted. He’s athletic, despite the small build. Fleury doesn’t always give the characters a home country or culture, but eventually Lúcio finds what he’s looking for: Jaren is from Brazil. 

“Oh my God.” Lúcio laughs. He does a double take. He laughs again. It  _ could  _ be coincidence, but as weirdly humble as it makes him feel sometimes, it’s not like he’s unaware of his own fame. He scrolls all the way back to the start to find the book was published only a month ago. 

He’s reading what is almost definitely fanfiction of himself, or at least a character that is  _ strongly  _ inspired by his own appearance and public-facing life. “Oh my God,” he mutters again, uncomfortable and delighted at the same time. 

He’s so stunned that it takes him several minutes to realize the other half of the equation. He goes back to skim again. Takashi is from Japan. He’s funny and charming and quick-witted with an underlying broodiness, an anger that leaps off the page at times. It comes out halfway through the story that his family are yakuza, which is a surprising choice from an author whose other works avoid such stereotypes. 

Lúcio doesn’t want to believe any of it, but when Takashi mentions an overbearing older sister, he can no longer hold his suspicions at bay. 

It’s Genji. It  _ has  _ to be. The characterization isn’t exact; Takashi is magnetic at times when Genji would more likely withdraw. But when Lúcio thinks about how Genji  _ could  _ have been before they met, before everything went to shit with his family, with Hanzo, it fits. It fits shockingly well. It doesn’t only feel like a studied portrayal of Genji; it feels like a studied portrayal from someone who has also heard his stories about his younger days. 

“Holy shit.” No wonder Genji wouldn’t look him in the eye. It’s a story about the two of them, together, and if it’s not, the resemblance is so uncanny that it’s no surprise Genji came to the same conclusion.

Lúcio flushes, and he is not ashamed to admit, at least to himself, that he reads the whole damn thing front to back before he bothers trying to decide what to  _ do  _ with the information. 

* * *

He can barely get Genji back into his room, but Lúcio is nothing if not stubborn. He’s also not above coercion. 

_ I’m gonna recommend this book to Hanzo and Angela if you don’t talk to me,  _ he sends. Genji knocks on his door within fifteen minutes. 

Lúcio doesn’t bother easing into it. He waves his tablet at Genji. “So this is us, right?”

Genji’s mask is still on. There’s no telling what he’s thinking. It makes Lúcio realize how often it’s usually  _ off  _ when they’re together, which is a distracting thought he maybe shouldn’t linger on right now. “Maybe?” Genji mumbles. 

“But you thought it was. That’s why you were weird about it.”

“Maybe,” Genji says again, somehow even more quietly. 

“Come on.”

“Fine. Yes.” Genji’s face may not be showing, but his body language is tense. 

Now that he’s gotten confirmation it’s not just in his head, Lúcio doesn’t know what to do with the information. This could have been a two-minute phone call. He didn’t  _ have  _ to make Genji come to him to talk. 

He pushes that thought and the accompanying blush down as hard as he can. He wants to ask Genji if he  _ liked  _ the book, if that’s part of the problem too, but he figures maybe that’s the less pressing question. Lúcio asks, “You think we know this person? Fleury?”

“It seems likely. Or perhaps  _ I  _ do, and you are simply famous enough.”

“You know anybody I wouldn’t know?” Genji doesn’t have a lot of friends. 

“None who I could imagine writing this.”

“Can you imagine anyone we  _ both  _ know writing this?”

Genji stares at him. Lúcio stares back. Simultaneously, they both ask, “McCree?” 

“No,” Genji says right on the heels of it. “He wouldn’t… he would want me in on the joke. Maybe both of us.” 

“Instead of telling us not to read it,” Lúcio says slowly, the realization dawning even as he speaks it aloud. 

“You don’t think—”

“I definitely think. He was in the rec room when I noticed we were missing a book, too.” 

“But he isn’t the reason your mail never arrived.”

“No. He isn’t.” He remembers Genji’s joke from before, about Mei stealing his mail to hide that she’s the author, and he snorts. “Would he go out of his way to protect her like that?”

“Of course he would. Wouldn’t you?” Genji pauses, and his head tilts. “I mean, before this.”

* * *

It’s Genji’s idea. Lúcio almost feels bad about it, but not bad enough to talk him out of it. 

They interrupt Mei having tea with Angela. 

“Excuse me,” Genji says. “We need to speak with Mei. Alone.”

“Oooookayyyy.” Angela draws the word out, eyes huge and round. Lúcio wonders when the last time was that Genji spoke to her in anything less than a pleasant tone. It’s probably been years. Maybe that’s why she’s so quick to get out of the way. 

She is less quick about getting out of earshot, sending concerned looks back over her shoulder at them. Mei looks similarly anxious. 

Lúcio slides the tablet across the table, the title page of the book on display. 

Mei actually says, “Eep!” Then she flushes like even she knows it was weird. 

“So. This book,” Lúcio starts. He realizes then that he’s not sure how to ask, because the whole thing is too surreal. 

“Did you write it?” Genji’s arms cross over his chest, and his tone is firm. It is kind of hot. 

“No,” she says firmly, but she’s squirming where she sits, glancing rapidly between the two of them. 

“But you know who did.” Lúcio mimics Genji’s pose. 

“No-o?” Mei might actually be the worst liar Lúcio’s ever met. 

“Yes,” Genji says, leaning over the table. The light in his visor seems to flare up, threatening. “Who was it?”

“I— I can’t—” Her brow draws down. It’s practically an apology, and it’s definitely the sort of kicked-puppy look that makes Lúcio regret everything about this approach. “I don’t know,” she says, refusing to look at either of them now. That gets rid of a lot of the sympathy. It’s so obviously another lie. 

“Gentlemen!” McCree’s voice is loud behind them, and he claps a hand down on Lúcio’s shoulder. There’s a clang to the left that says he’s done the same to Genji. “What’s the problem here?”

Lúcio shrugs out of it, turning to glare. “You know about this, don’t you?” He gestures at the tablet. 

McCree leans down, pretending to examine it with too much seriousness. “What about it?” he asks. 

Mei is trying to creep away. Genji stops her with a look. “You know who wrote it,” he says without turning from Mei. 

“Jean C. Fleury, right? It’s right there on the page.” McCree taps the tablet, shutting it off seemingly by accident. Lúcio wonders when else he’s been this obnoxious to deflect attention; it’s almost impressive, except that this time it’s too apparent it’s a strategy. 

“Is it you?” Lúcio asks. “Or her?” 

Mei and McCree glance at each other, not even trying to hide it. Then McCree smiles, expression far too easy and relaxed for somebody in the hot seat. “You caught me. I’m sorry I brought Mei into it. I made her promise to lie for me. But you’re right. I’m secretly a writer.”

“Really?” Genji asks flatly. It barely sounds like a question. 

“Hand to God, it’s true.”

Mei nods quickly. “It is. Really.”

McCree’s smile grows a little tighter before he smooths back over it. “So sorry you had to find out this way—”

“You know I could sue you for— for defamation or something, right?” Lúcio asks. 

“Could you?” McCree sounds like the thought doesn’t even bother him. 

“I can afford some pretty good lawyers.” McCree only looks skeptical, like he’s one hundred percent aware Lúcio hates that kind of thing too much to pursue it. 

“You would get more money if you turned him in for the bounty,” Genji says with feigned casualness, then he leans closer to Lúcio, voice lowered conspiratorially. It’s all for McCree’s benefit, but Lúcio still has to suppress the tiny zing of excitement that shoots down to his gut. “Imagine all the good you could do with sixty million dollars.”

“Hey now,” McCree starts, then his body goes still. Mei startles. They both dig out their phones. “Fine,” McCree says after a moment, “we can talk, but maybe not out here.” He sounds distracted, tapping away at his phone. Then he says, “Come on.”

Lúcio shares a look with Genji, but they let McCree and Mei lead them away. They get a lot of stares as a group. There’s Angela, sipping at her tea and failing to hide her curiosity. In the hallway, there are Brigitte and Hana, who look up and stop their conversation as they all walk by. As they pass the corridor that leads to the gym, Reinhardt waves and watches them the whole way. 

They take a right into a room Lúcio has never bothered with before. It’s nothing much, just a table and chairs in another dusty room in the skeleton of a Watchpoint. It’s also where Baptiste is sitting, a nervous smile on his face. 

“Have a seat,” he says, then gestures at the plate in front of him. “Cookies?”

“Ooh,” says Mei, who darts between Genji and Lúcio to grab two off the small mountain of treats. She brings one back for McCree, seizing him by the arm. “We’re going to go now. The rest of you, um, have fun?” Lúcio watches them leave with the strangest combination of trepidation and relief. 

There are three chairs, just like there are three cups for the pitchers of water and some vivid orange drink. It’s definitely the weirdest meeting Lúcio has ever had. He takes a sip of the alcohol, pleasantly surprised to taste mango rather than orange juice. 

“I’m sorry,” Baptiste says suddenly. 

Genji looks at Lúcio, whose brain finally catches up to the implication. Then they both round on Baptiste.  _ “You’re  _ Fleury?” Lúcio asks. 

“I am.”

The name was right there all along. Mei and McCree know; there are also novels suspiciously right up their alleys. They must have known for a long time. 

“Dude,” Lúcio says. Baptiste’s eyebrows raise, waiting, but there’s nothing else coming to mind.

“Are you secretly hiding your pet pot-bellied pig too?” Genji asks.

It breaks some of the tension, and Baptiste laughs. “Unfortunately, no.”

“I really wanted to meet it.”

“I’m sorry for that too. Jesse wrote that one.” Baptiste settles into his chair, and no matter how casual it looks, the massive gulp he takes of his drink suggests he’s still nervous. “He writes most of the blurbs. Mei helps sometimes. They think it’s funny.”

“So, what, are you  _ all  _ Fleury?” Lúcio asks.

“No, just me. They have their own projects, but I am sworn to secrecy on their names. All of us are.”

“That’s why they tried to cover for you. What happens if they break it?”

“Well, the disgusting mix of rum, whiskey and baijiu we all drank will have been for nothing. Um, and I guess I could tell everyone else their pseudonyms too? Really, the consequences were never an issue. Can you imagine Mei following through on punishing somebody?”

“Yes,” Genji says quickly.

It’s not that hard to picture Baptiste in this room with the other two, all of them writing or discussing their projects. Maybe Baptiste read parts aloud to his friends, which means some of the wilder choices he made were vetted by two people and still somehow made it to the final version. Maybe he wrote things  _ for  _ them, like the novels about lesbian scientists and gay cowboys. 

There’s a weird silence where none of them seems to want to bring up the real elephant in the room. If neither of them will do it, Lúcio will. “So you write stories for and about people you know.”

“Sometimes. They are usually loose inspirations, or simply informed by small parts of a person.”

“Yeah, and sometimes they’re a guy’s whole career and public history and how he looks and—” Lúcio stops himself short of adding  _ and his feelings for someone.  _ “Sometimes it’s  _ most  _ of what you know about a person.”

Baptiste looks uncomfortable, silent until he takes another huge swig of his drink. Then his determined eyes meet Lúcio’s. “Yeah. I didn’t exactly expect either of you to read it. The odds seemed so slim.”

“But you wrote it in the first place,” Genji says. His voice is quiet; it’s the voice he uses when he is puzzling over something that he hasn’t said yet.

“I was… working through something.” Baptiste lets out a heavy sigh, staring at the table.

“Working through what?” This time, Genji’s question is a direct challenge.

“I  _ am  _ sorry. I’m sure it was uncomfortable.”

“Working through  _ what?”  _ Genji asks again. 

Baptiste is silent long enough that Lúcio can’t stop himself from leaning forward, elbows on the table. It’s funny to see him like this. He’s always been charming, easygoing, radiating this easy confidence. Now he’s shrinking back. He shuts his eyes, breathes. “You two. If I removed myself from the picture, put it in a book, it was easier. I didn’t have to choose.” He glances up, this time only at Genji. “And neither did you.”

Genji freezes where he sits, and Lúcio has to work to piece it together himself. He thinks about Genji’s obvious crush on Baptiste, about Genji spending all his time in Lúcio’s room lately. He thinks about Baptiste flirting with Genji right back, but also that moment he and Lúcio shared on the mission; in this new light, Baptiste’s friendliness is suddenly called into question. He thinks about whether he was bothered by Genji and Baptiste’s mutual attraction, or if he was only bothered because he thought it necessarily excluded him. And he thinks, lastly, about whether Baptiste felt the same, looking in with the assumption  _ he  _ was the one who’d be left out. 

“Who says anybody has to choose?” The question escapes Lúcio’s mouth before he can even think to stop it, and once it’s out, he’s got one pair of eyes and a blank faceplate aimed right at him. “I mean. Listen, man, the book thing? That’s still weird. It’s really, really weird. But like, not the kind of weird I’m mad at, or that I can’t get over. So if you’re saying what I think you’re saying—” he gestures at the table, the room. “—it’s not like you’ve never made a three-way pact before.”

Baptiste visibly swallows. He and Genji take long enough to respond that Lúcio begins to second-guess himself, wondering if he only made things worse somehow. It’s Genji who breaks the silence this time, speaking slowly. “I never considered…” 

“Dude, we all know what you used to get up to. Are you really saying you’ve  _ never  _ been with two—”

“That was only sex.” Genji shifts uncomfortably, but he’s too proud to look away, even if he sounds anxious as hell when he says, “I don’t want only sex. From either of you.”

“Well, me neither.” Lúcio knows it sounds like he’s issued a dare. Maybe he has. But the surprise is starting to wear off, and now he’s struck with the warm, tentative hope that this is all real and he’s not about to wake up back in the Orca, flying in from the last mission, and he’s determined to prove to himself that’s not going to happen. He looks across the table.

Baptiste suddenly laughs. It’s half strangled, but it sounds relieved too. “Should have delivered you both autographed copies the day that book came out.” He clears his throat. “I’m— if you two are serious…”

“I am,” Lúcio says with a sideways glance at Genji.

“I am too.”

“Then that makes three of us.” Baptiste grins, tentative but bright. “What next?”

* * *

Three months later, Lúcio lies on his stomach on the bed, scrolling through Fleury’s website. There’s an excerpt of his latest project. Baptiste never lets them read anything he’s working on while it’s in progress, and Lúcio  _ gets  _ that, but it also means he spends a lot of time dying of curiosity. This one’s good, though. It’s about a man named Emmanuel, a former mercenary finding his way back to the light, and the men he meets along the way. 

The passage itself is nice, even if it leaves him wanting more, but Lúcio can’t look away from the comments below the post. Most of them don’t bother to discuss the hint of plot or characters. They’re all hung up on the same thing. 

_ Polyamory? No offense, but that’s so unrealistic. Really cheapens their relationship. _

_ a poly novel!!! finally!!!  _

_ Wow, I thought Fleury wrote about REAL relationships. Don’t think I’ll be buying this one. _

_ I’m so excited! I’d read anthing Jean writes, who cares what its about? Its FICTION _

It goes on, and on, and on, a trainwreck of comments he can’t look away from, no matter how much they call into question the legitimacy of relationships exactly like his own. 

In truth, these characters don’t look much like any of them. They don’t speak like any of them. The way they get together in the end doesn’t look much like the way he and Baptiste and Genji did. Even the reactions on the website don’t seem to reflect much reality, which means Lúcio feels mostly comfortable laughing or, at worst, rolling his eyes at even the most offensive responses. It doesn’t mean he can take his eyes off them, though.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Lúcio asks.

Baptiste snorts. “I know you’re reading the comments.”

“Nope, I would never.” The bed dips, and Lúcio yelps and tightens his grip when Baptiste tries to steal the tablet away. “Excuse you?”

Baptiste tries again to tug it away from him, and Lúcio turns, which is a mistake, because it means Baptiste switches his grip from the tablet to Lúcio’s wrist, pinning it to the bed. What was a mistake in a pseudo-wrestling match was a genius move in other ways, because Baptiste laughs and bends down to kiss him. Lúcio laughs into it, at least until he has to focus on the actual kissing. 

Baptiste’s lips are soft, sweet, and when his tongue teases into Lúcio’s mouth, he tastes like coffee and the grapes he’s been snacking on. Then the tablet slips from Lúcio’s grasp. He breaks away, startled, to find Genji staring down at them, calmly turning the device off. 

“You promised no fan forums without me,” Genji says with a bad attempt at a pout. 

“You  _ both  _ promised you wouldn’t read them while I’m around.” 

Lúcio huffs, still half pinned beneath Baptiste and not put off enough to try escaping. “They’re not forums! They’re on the website! It doesn’t count.”

Baptiste snorts. “Tomorrow, I’m buying every tabloid I can find with you in it, and I’m going to read the articles out loud to you.”

The mattress moves again as Genji scoots in next to them. “If you find one where he’s pregnant with an alien baby, please save it. I want to get it framed.” 

“Are you ganging up on me?” Lúcio asks. 

“I thought you liked getting tag teamed,” Baptiste says, eyes wide and innocent before he cracks himself up. 

“Not at this rate.”

“Aww, but I just got here,” Genji complains, then brushes Lúcio’s ear with the tip of his nose, voice going low and husky. “I wanna pump you full of my dick confetti.” 

Lúcio doesn’t hear whatever Baptiste is muttering over the sound of his own laughter. He also doesn’t care in this instance. “Come here, big boy, and split me open on your fat pink mast.” 

Baptiste groans and rolls away from both of them. Genji only laughs. “You can’t complain. You wrote a  _ book  _ about us. These things have consequences.”

“This was a mistake. I want you both out of my room.” 

“No, you don’t,” Lúcio says. “You love us.” 

He’s teasing. It’s just another part of the game. But Baptiste’s playful grin fades to something softer around the edges. “Yeah,” he says in something approaching a reverent whisper. 

The only proper response to that is to kiss him, then to watch Genji kiss him, then to tug on the buttons of Baptiste’s shirt until Lúcio can get at his bare skin. Undressing is always a production to navigate. This time is no different, but once they’re finished, Lúcio finds himself sandwiched between the two of them, Genji’s breath hot against the back of his neck as he drags his mouth along the skin. 

Baptiste’s big hands pull Lúcio closer. Their lips meet eagerly, tongues sliding together, before Baptiste breaks away to kiss the other side of Lúcio’s neck, teeth scraping gently along the skin. It’s almost too hot between them, smothering, and their kisses make his head spin, but it doesn’t put him off his mission. 

He waits until Baptiste’s hand is sliding down his stomach, fingers bumping over skin growing tacky with sweat, before he strikes. “Yeah, touch my throbbing member.”

“Oh my  _ God,”  _ Baptiste groans. Genji is shaking with laughter, but that somehow doesn’t stop him from kissing the spur of Lucio’s shoulder. What does stop him is Baptiste, who wrestles Lúcio back down onto the bed. “You’re a monster. You must be stopped.”

“I can think of an easy way to shut him up,” Genji says helpfully. 

“Ooh, yeah, I wanna choke on your turgid love rod.”

Baptiste sighs, heavy and drawn out, his eyes raised to the ceiling. He can be as dramatic as he likes. He still doesn’t take much convincing when he’s offered a blowjob. Lúcio sets himself to that task just as enthusiastically as he did coming up with terrible sex terms. He takes his job as muse  _ very  _ seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank/blame George R. R. Martin for the phrase "fat pink mast," and blame him more for using it unironically. Takashi is the name of the second son in _Jiro Dreams of Sushi,_ which the OW team said was part of the inspiration for Genji and Hanzo's backstory.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably a year ago now, I promised [bloomingcnidarians](https://twitter.com/bloomingjellies) I'd work "dick confetti" into a fic somehow. Here we are.
> 
> The "sexy dance fighting" is from Bob's Burgers.


End file.
